There is a quiet wisdom in the way seagrass lean towards the sea. They do not resist the wind or the salt air, they do not ask why the horizon glows and then dims each day—they simply move, bend, and belong. We, too, were made for this kind of belonging. Yet so often, we tangle ourselves in the noise of ambition, fear, and judgment, forgetting that life is not a puzzle to be solved but a rhythm to be lived. The ocean does not apologize for its tides, and the sun does not hesitate to rise again after night. If only we could hold this truth within us: that our worth is not in the battles we win or the ladders we climb, but in the simple fact of being here, alive, breathing in the same air that sways the grasses, breathing out the same light that touches the horizon. Personally speaking, the essence of life to me is connection, because to live fully is to lean, like the grasses, into the vastness, trusting the wind, and letting beauty pass through us without needing to possess it.
Songs in the Grass by Ocean Eversley
Grasses bow
to a wind older than memory,
their slender bodies
carrying no shame
in their surrender.
The ocean waits—
not to be conquered,
not to be owned,
but to remind us
of our own unmeasured depth.
The sun spills fire,
then softens into quiet,
teaching us
that brilliance and rest
are both holy.
We are not here
to clutch at permanence,
but to join the turning—
to let the world move through us,
and become part of its song.